Hand of Sorrow
by foxxtastic
Summary: A/U in which Gendry is hired on by Eddard Stark as one of his personal guard after discovering he is the bastard of Robert Baratheon. Based loosely on the song "Hand of Sorrow" by Within Temptation.
1. Prologue

**_Author's Note: _**_ I don't know why, but I felt like the song "Hand of Sorrow" by Within Temptation fit extremely well to some crazy idea I had in my head. And I got so excited that I just HAD to write it. Don't judge me, please? I own none of the characters._

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_"Let me see your face,"_ were the words that had started this whole damned thing. His life at the forge had been ended a few days after the King's Hand had come to visit him. Gendry had been confused as all the seven hells when Lord Eddard Stark's right hand man Jory Cassel had come to fetch him. Torbho Mott had taken one look at the piece of parchment sealing his life away and nodded, consenting to whatever terms it was that Lord Stark had seen fit to present him with.

_'Why in the seven hells would he want me on his personal guard? I make swords, not use them,'_ he had told himself again and again as he was led up to the Red Keep and away from the home he had known for so long.

Why would they send him away from that?

That was how he had found himself outfitted in new clothes and armor with the direwolf of House Stark on his breast, the dirt scrubbed away from him, and a sword from Tobho Mott's forge on his hip standing outside of Lord Stark's solar in the Tower of the Hand in the Red Keep.

Queen Cersei had been positively furious with Lord Stark for hiring Gendry on and training him. He didn't see why it was such a big deal that the King's Hand had hired on some bastard boy. Then again, he _was_ a bastard and it made sense as to why he would be looked at in disgust when it came to the royal blood. King Robert had thought it amusing, but there had been something dark and stormy in his eyes and he had looked Gendry up and down like a pig for slaughter.

Gendry Waters did not like King Robert Baratheon now any more than he had when he didn't have to be close to him.

Thankfully, however, Lord Stark had the sense to keep Gendry close to the Tower of the Hand after the initial discovery of his new boy.

Gendry did not particularly enjoy being someone's "boy," but what choice did he have in the matter?

He was leaning back against the wall by the closed door to Eddard Stark's solar, his eyes wandering over the red brick that the castle was made out of out of boredom. His mind was clouded with thoughts of the past that had haunted him from day one. Guarding someone's door was nowhere near as entertaining as he had wanted it to be. Not that he had been given a choice in this new life of his, nor did he really expect there to be much excitement to begin with, but still.

He started as the door was pulled open and Jory Cassel exited, stepping to the side and giving Gendry a knowing look. "His Lordship would like to see you, Gendry," the older man stated simply. Gendry blinked, confusion settling into his stomach.

He had been taught early on not to question His Lordship's orders, however, so he bowed his head and entered the room he had been set to guard.

Eddard Stark sat in a heavy chair behind a heavy table. Maps, books, and other papers littered the surface of the table and Lord Stark's brow was furrowed in thought. The man had a kindly face, but many of those features were lost with the solemnity that he bore upon his shoulders. Gendry could not imagine that being the King's Hand was far from anything but an extremely heavy burden. Especially when it came to being Hand to the great fat sod that was Robert Baratheon.

Gendry bowed stiffly, dipping his head down as well as he rose. For all that he hated Ned for taking his life at the forge away from him, he still respected the man. Two and a half years of service to a man will do that.

"Yes, m'lord?" he asked sheeply. Lord Stark looked up from the parchment he was reading, crinkling his eyes in a shadow of a smile.

"Please, have a seat, Gendry," he told him. The younger man did as he was told, nodding his head again as he took one of the chairs across the table from his Lord. He sat stiffly, however. Gendry had never been quite comfortable ever since leaving the comforts of the forge. He had been taught his courtesies, his mother had been sure of it. She had wanted to raise a respectful son and he had tried his hardest to do just that. Not for the first time, a passing thought made him wonder what his mother would think if she could see him now.

"I have decided that having you guard the door to my solar is a waste of your talents," he said simply. Eddard Stark was never a man to beat around the bush, but the statement made Gendry hold his breath. What did he mean? Gendry didn't have any talents other than making armor. He wasn't great at that, but he was decent and it was something he could actually _do_. Since when did Gendry Waters have any _talents_?

"M'lord?" he asked after a moment, confusing making his brow furrow again.

"I want you to guard my daughters. I fear that King's Landing is…not as safe as I would like."

"M'lord, why not someone else? Why…why me?" he asked before he could stop himself, breathless. He wasn't sure what to make of this new assignment. He had met Ned Stark's daughters before, of course. In fact, he was on somewhat friendly talking terms with the youngest of the Stark girls. He wasn't sure if they were really friendly or not considering the fact that half of the time, Arya Stark called him 'stupid' more than once. He didn't mind it so much, though. Not as much as he would have if it were others calling him stupid.

The corners of Lord Stark's mouth were curled upwards in the slightest as he shook his head and returned his gaze to the piece of parchment he had been reading before Gendry had interrupted him.

"You are strong, you can fight though you do not think you can. You are a loyal man, despite what I have put you through. I do not believe putting you in charge of the safety of my daughters is a bad thing, though I will admit it will be trying and test you. I would like to know what you are capable of, more than just standing guard outside of my door and the courtesies you have been taught."

It all seemed so simple when he put it like that, but all Gendry could think was _why_? He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly raven black curls, tugging at the ends as he thought.

"Do you accept, then?" Lord Stark asked him softly, looking up at him through his lashes. Gendry nodded, getting to his feet quickly and performing another bow.

"Yes, m'lord. I accept."

"Good! You may take your leave. Arya is at her dancing lessons, Sansa with Prince Joffrey and the rest of the court. It may be best to keep Arya in line for the most part. I don't suggest you wandering into the court. Cersei does not approve of your presence there," Ned stated simply, turning his attentions back to his paper, dismissing him.

But still, Gendry lingered. "May I ask why?" he paused, "m'lord?" he added before he forgot himself. He was a bastard, after all, and no matter what assignment Lord Stark gave him, he was never going to be more than a bastard. Less than all of these high born lords and ladies.

Why he wanted a bastard to guard his daughters was still beyond Gendry.

Ned sighed and folded his hands before him, looking up at the young man sullenly. "Once I am sure there are no ears to hear us, I will tell you. You may go."

Gendry sighed inwardly and nodded, bowing again before turning away and leaving the solar. Jory was beside the door, nodding to Gendry as he descended the stairs to go hunt down Arya Stark, the girl who would now be his ward.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: **__Oh goodness! I was not expecting to get such a great response from this! Thank you guys so much for subscribing, favouriting, and reviewing. It really means a lot to me and I really appreciate the support!_

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_**Arya**_

There was no one in all Seven Kingdoms more irritating that Sansa Stark. Except for, maybe, Joffrey Baratheon, the beloved Prince of perfect and beautiful Sansa Stark. Sansa was just stupid, though, and Arya had no problem with telling her older sister that.

"Gods, you're so stupid," she stated bitterly while they broke their fast. Sansa's look soured as she and her very best friend Jeyne Poole glared across the table at Arya.

"Well I wouldn't expect _you_ of all people to understand," her sister sneered. Jeyne Poole looked like she was ready to pounce, a very disapproving frown on her face. Arya frowned right back, furrowing her brows.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean!? Why would I want to be queen, anyway? You can't say anything and all you get to do is have _babies_." She spat out the word like a curse. At three-and-ten, Arya had still failed to be provided with a match, despite three years of living at court in the Red Keep.

However, it didn't concern Arya that she was unmarried and not betrothed. She saw it as a good thing, really. If she remained unmarried, it meant that she could spend her life doing what she wanted. She could keep up with her sword lessons with Syrio and she wouldn't have to concern 'herself with being a proper lady like her sister and Jeyne.

"But fine, if you want to spend the rest of your life being stupid with stupid Joffrey, then go ahead. I don't care," Arya stated dismissively, scooting her heavy chair back and getting to her feet.

"Lady Arya, just where do you think you're going? You have not been dismissed!" Septa Mordane scolded her. Arya didn't care, though. She turned away and marched off to her room, brushing past Gendry and closing the door behind her. She could hear Septa Mordane shouting at her, but she ignored it. She was sick of hearing her older sister ramble on about finally getting married to the royal prick and Jeyne egging her on and swooning just as much.

Arya could not understand girls who swooned that much over _boys_.

Digging Needle out of its hiding place in her trunks, she began practicing her swordsmanship alone in her room before she had to attend her lessons. It seemed that hardly any time had passed when a knock came to her door and the deep voice of Gendry, the man who had become her guard over six months ago, sounded through to her.

"Lady Arya, time for your lessons," he told her through the door. Arya sighed and packed away Needle again, hiding it beneath the dresses that she was forced into daily. Opening her door, she found Gendry waiting for her.

The boy (who wasn't really a boy considering he was five years her elder) was a broad-shouldered, muscled one. And, if she was being honest with herself, he_ was_ somewhat attractive. His shaggy raven hair that started curling at the ends when he didn't cut it for a while, his stormy blue eyes… She had caught both Sansa and Jeyne swooning over him almost as much as they did the knights and prince they fancied so much a few times, and Gendry was base-born. As much as she hated to admit it, Arya couldn't blame them that.

He was strong, too. That much was obvious by the way he moved his bulk with easy grace. He wasn't near as bulky or as tall as the Hound, but he was still rather large for a boy his age. Of course, he was eight-and-ten, hardly a boy anymore. Arya found it easier to think of him as a boy, though. It made it easier for them to be friends, even though he didn't talk much and tended to keep to himself.

"Let's go before my sister shows up," she told him, slipping past him and out of the Tower of the Hand, knowing he would be at her heels.

"She's left with the Hound about an hour ago. Prince Joffrey wanted to show her somewhat," he told her softly. Arya nodded her head in reply.

"Well and good. She can take the bloody Hound and her prince to the seven hells," she muttered, still feeling bitter from that morning. She heard Gendry chuckle softly behind her.

"Your Septa was not pleased with you this morning, m'lady."

"I _told_ you not to call me that. And my Septa can do the same as Sansa and Joffrey," she told him with a nod. Again, he chuckled.

"Yes, m'lady," he said in response. She spun on him, glaring up at him with her fists clenched. He stopped, looking down at her coolly with amusement in his stormy eyes.

"I was wrong this morning, _you're_ the stupid one," she told him before spinning back around and stalking away from him. She could hear his footsteps as he followed her.

"If you say so, Lady Arya."

"Call me that one more time, and I _swear_ to the old gods and the new, I will punch you right in that smug face of yours," she seethed. She hated how he could do that, make her pleased one moment and angry the other. Stupid bastard.

He laughed again and she rolled her eyes, biting on her cheek. "That's not very ladylike, is it?" he asked her, moving to stand by her side. She looked down at him briefly before taking a turn down a corridor.

"Yes, well. I've never _wanted_ to be a lady."

"Mmm," he mused, nodding his head and falling back a step again. She rolled her eyes and continued her way through the Red Keep to the large empty room where she took her "dancing" lessons with Syrio.

When they reached the door, Gendry positioned himself by the door, crossing his hands over each other on the pommel of his sword looking down at her as she went inside. There was a ghost of a smile on his face as he watched her. Arya wondered quietly what that was about, but tried not to think too much about it. She also tried not to think about the uncomfortable and unfamiliar fluttering feeling it set to her stomach.

Huffing, she closed the door behind her and deftly caught the wooden practice sword that her Dancing Master tossed at her. "When are we going to practice with real swords?" she had asked him once after a year of lessons with him. He had laughed lightheartedly and pressed his attack on her without another word.

She had given up on trying to get him to allow her to use real swords instead of the wooden ones. It had been three years and still they sparred with wooden swords. Arya tried to pretend like it didn't bother her.

Later, when she and her father were alone save for Jory Cassel and Gendry Waters standing guard at the entrance to the Tower of the Hand as usual, she voiced her concerns. Her father shook his head as he shuffled through the sheaf of papers before him.

"Nonsense, Arya. I'm sure he has his reasons," he told her. Arya sighed, sinking into her seat with a slouch. Her father smirked and looked up at her, smiling. "If you want, I can have someone else teach you,"

"No!" she quickly said, desperation on her face. She enjoyed Syrio's company far too much to replace him. He was teaching her to be a Water Dancer, a different strategy than was popular in the brute force that many of the knights in Westeros used. She sighed and ran a hand through her tangled hair. "I'm sure you're right, Father. I just…want to use real swords," she sighed.

Ned Stark nodded and returned his eyes to his papers. "I know, sweetling. I'm sure he has his reasons. You will use a real sword to spar soon enough, I'm sure." He faded as he looked up at the door, at Jory and Gendry. Arya's eyes followed his and fell on Gendry. Their eyes met briefly before he looked away. There was a funny look on his face that she couldn't place no matter how hard she tried. She sighed and returned her attentions to her father.

"Yes, Father," she said.

"Septa Mordane tells me you have been arguing with your sister again," he said with a soft sigh. Arya's sigh was harsher and she added a groan along with it. She was about to open her mouth to retort when her father's gaze pinned her down. His Stark grey eyes were full of disapproval for her actions towards her sister. She knew how much he hated the fact that his daughters couldn't be in the same room for more than a few minutes without wanting to rip the other's head off.

"You two need to try to get along better, Arya. She will be married soon and then you and your sister will be separated even more."

"It's not like she even _wants_ to -"

"Nonsense, Arya. Sansa has told me she's tried to have a relationship with you. You are the one who refuses to give her a chance."

Arya sighed and sunk a little deeper into her seat. She hated disappointing her father. It was an age-old story with her. Her father's love was one of the only things she could be sure of. She wanted to make him proud of her, especially since Sansa was so much more than Arya was.

Where Sansa was gorgeous, Arya was not. While she had begun to develop a woman's body, she was uncomfortable with it and chose to wear looser clothing so as to hide it as much as she could. Sansa was graceful, quiet, and had perfect manners. Arya was none of those things.

For Arya, disappointing her father was one of the worst things that could happen to her. She hung her head in shame and stared down at her hands, useless in her lap. "Yes, Father," she told him softly.

Ned Stark's hand reached into her field of vision, grabbing her chin and lifting it so she would meet his eyes. He was smiling kindly at her, the love he held for his youngest daughter dancing in his eyes. It filled Arya with warmth, making her feel a bit better. However, the fact that she had still disappointed him hung over her head like a dark cloud.

Her father's hand moved away from her face and he returned his attention to the paper before him once again. "Your Lady Mother is arriving here for your sister's wedding to Prince Joffrey within a fortnight. She is bringing Bran and Rickon with her. Robb will remain in Winterfell and handle affairs there," he recited as he read over a piece of paper. The thought of getting to see Bran again brightened Arya's spirits a bit and she straightened in her seat.

"Really!?"

"Yes, really," Ned said with a light chuckle. Arya flushed at how childish she must have sounded, though she couldn't hold her excitement for much of anything. Suddenly, she felt restless. She needed to do something and get out of the Tower of the Hand for a bit. Maybe she could explore the Red Keep a bit before she needed to return for dinner.

"May I be excused, Father?" she asked, already scooting back from the table. He looked her way briefly before nodding and waving her off.

"You may. Don't get into too much trouble, alright?"

Arya nodded before bounding out of the Tower of the Hand to wander. Gendry followed her, a shadow as he usually was.

"Why did my father assign you to protect me? I can take care of myself plenty fine," she asked stubbornly at the base of the steps. Gendry paused, blinking at her and furrowing his brow in thought.

"I…I'm not sure, m'lady..." he said, unsure of himself. Arya regretted opening her mouth, for once. "I can leave you be, if you would like." Arya shook her head quickly, offering him a light smile.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind so much. Just quit calling me 'm'lady'. You can just call me Arya, I don't mind," she said, turning away again. "I was just wondering. I'm sorry if I offended you."

Gendry laughed, catching her off guard. "I believe that is the first lady-like thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth, _Arya_," he told her. She wasn't sure why he put emphasis on her name, but it caused that fluttering feeling in her stomach again. She frowned while he couldn't see her face, not liking the fact that he could make her feel that way.

She was Arya Stark. She wasn't supposed to feel that way towards any boys, least of all the man who was her guard.

Shoving the thoughts aside, she glared back at him before turning down a corridor to head towards the lower levels of the Red Keep. "Oh shut up, Stupid," she returned.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note ::**__ I can't decide if I like this chapter or not... I suppose I'll just have to wait to hear from you guys to see what you think. Again, thank you so much to all of you who have favorited, followed, and reviewed this. It really means a lot to me to know that you guys enjoy it so much!_

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_**Gendry**_

"Take a walk with me, Gendry," the Hand of the King ordered. Jory was with him as per usual and the older man moved to stand beside the door to the room Arya was using for her lessons.

Gendry bowed his head and followed Lord Stark obediently. The two men walked through the castle and to the meager Godswood the Red Keep held in silence.

Arya had told him time and again that it wasn't _really_ a Godswood since there was no weirwood tree. She told him of how Southrons like him had all forsaken the Old Gods of the First Men in favor of the Seven and their septs. She had often told him of the Godswood in Winterfell, how it was one of the many things she missed most about her home in the north. Gendry wondered if the same was true of Lord Stark.

When they reached the heart of the Godswood, Ned looked around briefly, hands clasped behind his back. Gendry wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but he followed in silent obedience. After circling the area, they returned to the center. Lord Stark took a seat on an old stone bench and the silence continued for a few moments.

"I've always found peace in the Godswood in Winterfell. It's a good place to think. And to be by yourself. No prying eyes or ears of mice or birds," Lord Stark mused, looking tired and worn. Gendry watched the older man quietly for a moment, unsure of what to say as usual.

"What do you know of your parentage, Gendry?" he asked bluntly. That was one of the things he liked about Eddard Stark (and Arya as well), the fact that he didn't beat around the bush with words.

The question caught him off guard, however. Arya had asked him briefly about it back when Gendry had first been brought into the service of House Stark. But after he admitted knowing nothing of his fatehr or much of his mother, that had pretty much been the end of it. And, to be honest, Gendry really hadn't thought much about it at all. Until now, that is.

"My mother died when I was young. She worked in a tavern. Don't know who my father was or whatever happened to him. Not that I care much." There was a grudging tone in his voice.

Ned Stark nodded solemnly, watching him with a strange look in his grey eyes. There was a few more moments of silence before the older man took a breath and leveled his gaze at Gendry. "You once asked me why it is that Queen Cersei dislikes you," he said.

Gendry's stomach plummeted. As often as Arya liked to call him Stupid, he was fairly quick when it came to certain things like this. Ned had left no real openings for interpretation. There was only one reason that he would ask Gendry what he knew of his parentage and then change the subject to the queen. Though the young man could not believe what the older was implying.

"You can't be serious," he groaned, forgetting himself again. Lord Stark didn't seem to mind the missing courtesy, however. Gendry pulled a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends of it as he clenched his jaw. "You're telling me, that my mother actually… with _him_, of all people!?" he asked, incredulous.

"I understand how hard this must be, Gendry. But yes, you are the king's bastard child. One of the many, unfortunately. Queen Cersei has no love for the reminders of her husband's behaviors."

Gendry huffed a heavy sigh and sank onto the bench across from Lord Stark. He placed his head in his hands and tried to wrap around what he was just told. It couldn't be possible… It was just too ridiculous! But it had been made obvious enough.

Lord Stark stood, looking down at Gendry. He made to stand as well, but his lord shook his head. Stark placed a hand on his shoulder in a show of comfort, giving a small and sympathetic smile. That only served to fuel Gendry's anger, however. He didn't want sympathy. He didn't want to know that his mother had let that fat, blubbering slob into her bed. From all that he could remember, his mother was beautiful, even for a low-born tavern wench. Thinking about how King Robert Baratheon had fathered him only made him think lowly of his mother. He didn't think he could live with himself if he thought of her as a lowly whore.

"Stay, Gendry. Take some time to yourself. When you are ready, return to the Tower of the Hand. I will be fine on my own."

"Thank you, m'lord," Gendry said through gritted teeth.

As he watched him leave, all that he could think about was how he was Gendry Waters, bastard son of King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name. As though being a simple bastard hadn't been enough for him. Now he was a _king's_ bastard.

Arya was the one who found him in the Godswood. He had stayed there as the sun crept across the sky, pacing back and forth and punching things to release some of the anger he had in him. The knuckles of his hands were bruised and some of the skin had been torn, blood rising to the surface. He had been waving his sword about in the air at imaginary enemies when his charge found him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, startling him. He hadn't heard her creep up behind him. Whirling, Gendry brought his sword up above his head before he realized what he was doing. Seeing who it was that had snuck up on him, he lowered his sword, feeling a bit of a fool.

"Nothing, m'lady."

"Well that's stupid. Obviously you're doing _something_," she stated matter-of-factly. She searched his face for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. "Whatever. Are you coming back to the Tower of the Hand? I don't want to have to suffer Sansa swooning over her stupid prince by myself anymore."

At the thought of Prince Joffrey Baratheon, Gendry's anger surged again. The fact that he was technically related to that little cunt frustrated him to no end. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair for the millionth time. Arya seemed to catch on to his discomfort over something and she tilted her head, biting her lip in thought.

"Or not. We could just stay here and practice swords. Or wander King's Landing," she suggested. It was silent for a few moments, during which Gendry was trying to figure out what in seven hells was going through Arya's mind. He wondered if Sansa was really being _that_ bad or there was something else going on.

"You didn't tell anyone where you went, did you?" Gendry said. It wasn't a question, and Arya shrugged, plopping down on the path and staring up at him.

"If we return and I say I was with you, I won't get in trouble."

"Yes, but I will."

"No, you won't. You worry too much, Stupid. Obviously, I'm fine. My well-being is all you need to worry about. That's your _job_, isn't it?"

Gendry furrowed his brow, wondering why Arya was acting this way. He often wondered that, and he probably shouldn't have. Arya would act the way that Arya wanted to act, and nothing could change that. But still… Something about her manner was bothering him, almost worrying him.

"What happened?" he asked. Her grey eyes shot up to him and quickly away. She laid back on the hard-packed earth, staring up at the sky.

"Nothing," she said completely unconvincing. "I just needed to get away. You know that feeling, don't you?"

Gendry shrugged, sheathing the naked steel he still held in his hand. He moved to sit next to her, ignoring the proper things required of him as a man in service to House Stark in favor of the easy-going comfort of friendship.

"Yes and no. My way of getting away was banging a hammer against steel until I felt better," he said softly, thinking fondly of the forge, his home.

They fell into silence again, Gendry's anger ebbing away as he spent time with Arya. As much as her personality was like wildfire, she was calming to him for some reason. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to be rash with her or scare her or get angry around her. He didn't want her to see him at his worst. He couldn't say for certainty why he felt that way, he just did. He also knew that feeling that way about her could get him into trouble with her father and just about every other person in the Seven Kingdoms.

But for now, it was Gendry and Arya and no one else mattered.

"I'm sorry," Arya said after a while of silence. Her sudden apology startled Gendry, who had thought that she had dozed off for a bit. When he turned his eyes on her, she was looking at him again in a way that made him almost uncomfortable. There was something akin to pity in her grey eyes and he hated seeing it.

He scoffed, trying to make light of the situation. "Why?" he asked, turning his head away from her with some effort.

Arya propped herself up on her elbows, looking at him seriously. "My father took you away from that. I'm sorry," she said. It was the first time that Gendry had heard her give a sincere apology for anything. He turned to look at her again, his brow furrowed slightly. She was biting her lip and looking down at her stomach, thinking of something he was not privy to. "I…I don't know why he did, but I'm… I'm glad he did," she confessed, flushing pink.

Gendry swallowed to try to rid himself of the tightening of his throat.

"And why is that, m'lady?" he asked, watching her carefully. Her eyes darted to his face quickly to give him a glare before moving away from him. She chewed on her lips some more as she thought.

"I told you not to call me that. But…I guess it's because…I've never really had a friend before. One that wasn't one of my brothers. And now I have you," she said sheepishly. Gendry allowed himself a smirk, though he kept himself from revealing the grin that spread across his face.

"I've never really had much friends either. I don't even have siblings. At least you had them," he offered softly.

When the sky was turning pink in the horizon, Gendry sighed and got to his feet. "We should get you back to your father, m'lady. He'll be right furious with me I'm sure," he said. He offered his hand to her, though she ignored him and got to her feet on her own. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her reluctance for help of any sort.

"I suppose. But if Sansa opens her stupid mouth again, I'm going to show her just what kind of dancing I've been taking lessons in," she threatened. Gendry laughed and shook his head, placing a hand on the pommel of his sword as he walked a step behind Lady Arya Stark.

When they returned to the Tower of the Hand, it was as Gendry had thought. Septa Mordane looked more distraught than ever, Lord Stark looked like he had just been through all seven hells and back, and both Sansa Stark and Jeyne Poole were looking at Arya with disdain. Gendry did not have very fond feelings for either of the girls, especially not at that moment.

"Where in the seven hells have you been, Arya!?" Lord Stark asked cooly. He never yelled or bellowed like the King did when he was angry. The change of his tone from his usual solemn one was all that gave way to his anger and Gendry watched as Arya quailed underneath her father's anger.

"I…I'm sorry. I wanted to explore and get away. I ran into Gendry a little bit ago at the Godswood and he brought me back," she said. Everyone's eyes went to Gendry and he sighed, feeling the weight of their combined gaze crush him down to nothing. It was times like these that never failed to remind Gendry of just who and what he was. A bastard who used to apprentice to a blacksmith raised up far past his position to be the personal guard of one of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell's daughters.

Lord Stark sighed and dragged Arya into his solar with Septa Mordane, leaving Gendry alone with the other Stark daughter and her friend. They watched him for a moment, whispering to the other behind their pale and slender hands.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:** I have to apologize about taking forever on updating this fic. I've been rather...extremely stressed out with work and school, both of which are kicking my arse at the moment. I have a couple more weeks until the semester is over and I might be able to enjoy some relaxation time in which I can actually seriously write for once. I also apologize that this is such a short chapter. I wanted it to be longer, but Arya was not working with me and I couldn't get it any farther..._

**_Disclaimer:_**_If I owned these characters, I wouldn't have to write fan fiction about them._

* * *

_**Arya**_

The reception of Lady Catelyn and her sons to King's Landing was a dull affair compared to the one the Starks prepared in Winterfell for the King. Granted, King Robert was the King of all of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady Catelyn was only the wife of the Lord of Winterfell, but still. It was rather quiet, with only Lord Stark, his daughters, and his men there at the gates to greet her. Tyrion Lannister and Renly Baratheon accompanied them as placeholders for King Robert and Queen Cersei.

Arya fidgeted in her gown as she waited beside her father, pulling on the hems of her sleeves uncomfortably. '_I'm missing a lesson with Syrio for this…' _ she thought to herself, irritated by the fact. Sansa had scoffed at her when she complained about having to miss her dance lessons, which had made Arya want to go even less.

Thankfully, Gendry was there along with the rest of the household guard. Arya was glad that he had become her friend. She didn't have many in Kings Landing, not any more. Being cooped up in the Red Keep all the time certainly made it hard to make any friends at all. It was more even between the sisters now. Sansa had Jeyne, and Arya had Gendry. Although that didn't stop Sansa from sneering at the way that Arya called him 'friend.' _"It isn't proper for a Lady to be friends with her _guard," she had said…

Stark banners could be seen down the King's Road an hour before Arya's mother and brothers reached the gates. The reunion between her mother and father was sweet, in their own reserved way. It was obvious how much the distance between Winterfell and King's Landing had strained their relationship with one another, how much they had missed each other. Arya felt an uneasiness in her stomach at the open show of affection her parents were showing. She wasn't used to seeing them share that with anyone.

She turned her attention to her brothers, who were being helped from their horses by Stark men. Young Rickon, now almost six, had a weary look upon his face, though when his eyes fell upon his father, he lit up and he ran to throw his arms around him.

The reunion was sweet for all of them, but Arya felt out of place. She did not have the relationship with her mother that Sansa had and it had been over three years since she'd seen her brothers. Yes, it was good to see them again, but there was something almost…_missing_.

The small feast that the Baratheons held in honor of Lady Catelyn Stark was far more meager than the one held in Winterfell. Though, again, the Stark family were not the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms and so a vast reception and vast feast, especially with the coming winter, was not expected for their arrival.

Arya fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, the seams of the dress Septa Mordane had forced her into itching at her skin. She hated nothing more than dresses, aside from maybe Joffrey. After living in Kings Landing for a few years, she had taken to wearing loose tunics and breeches, especially since she almost always trained with Syrio.

However, it would seem that with the arrival of her mother, Arya's boyish clothing choices were going to be changed dramatically.

She had fought with Septa Mordane that morning for nearly an hour before finally giving up at the threat of her father coming in to scold her. By that time, her father and sister had already gone down to meet with Tyrion and Renly to meet her mother, leaving Arya to catch up to them before the reception. Arya had been unable to change into more comfortable clothing since her mother's arrival, much to her dismay.

Gendry had smirked at her when he saw her in a dress for the first time. It made her angry and want to hit him, so she had. He had scowled at her and grumbled about how proper ladies shouldn't be hitting anyone, let along the men meant to guard them. Arya didn't give two pisses about what proper ladies should or shouldn't be doing.

Arya was a Stark of Winterfell, a dire wolf, not a proper lady.

The meal that evening seemed to drag on forever, as well. Arya was largely left out of the major conversations, what with Sansa and her betrothal and marriage to the Royal Prick being all anyone could talk about.

"Arya, what's that bruise on your hand?" Bran asked her quietly, pulling her attention from the food on her plate to her hand and then to her younger brother. She scowled at him, pulling her hands under the table.

"Arya's been taking dancing lessons," Sansa supplied from across the table. How _she_ had heard Bran's questions, Arya wasn't sure. But she wanted to punch her sister square in the nose for speaking up. Suddenly all the attention was upon her and the room had fallen silent. Her scowl turned on her sister. "She's really awful. Three years of lessons and she _still_ comes back with bruises all over."

She felt her skin heat up and flush with embarrassment as her father tried to pull the conversation in a different direction a few moments later. Arya _glared_ at her sister.

"You can tell me what you've _really_ been doing after supper, then," Bran told her with a smirk. The only thing Arya wanted to do after supper was go through the castle with her wooden practice sword and bash against walls and columns, practicing her stances Syrio had taught her with Gendry.

But no, now that her family was here, it was going to be hard for her to get away for her lessons, especially with her mother present…

* * *

Nearly a month had passed since Catelyn Stark and her youngest sons had arrived at King's Landing. Arya had been forced to sneak out to her lessons with Syrio, skirting around her mother's inquiries and self-invitations to attend her daughter's dancing lessons. Her father had tried to explain it to Lady Stark, but still the woman was persistent.

"You know she only does that because she cares and wants to see you succeed in something, right?" Gendry told her as they walked through the corridors of the Red Keep. Arya huffed a sigh, her brows pulling down into a scowl.

"I _know_ that, but she won't approve if she finds out."

"She's your mother, Arya, of course she's going to find out. If not from you, she'll get it out of your father eventually," he told her coolly. The young girl glared up at him again, reaching over to punch him in the arm.

"Look, my lady, it's your half-feral sister and her guard dog!" Arya froze as Gendry took a step behind her, straightening and putting on the face that he put on whenever they were around others. Joffrey and Sansa. Of course it was them. Her older sister looked irritated to have run into Arya and moved her hand to grab Joffrey and pull him away.

"If anyone has a guard dog, it's _you_," Arya growled, her brows furrowing again. The Hound looked down at her with the same fierce scowl that he held all the time. Arya was fairly certain that it was on his face permanently and he was incapable of making any other facial expressions or emotions. A flame of hatred burned bright within her chest as she balled her slim hands into fists.

"Arya!" Sansa cried, shocked at her sister's audacity. Joffrey seemed to growl at her.

"Yes, well, at least he's far better than a bastard bull," the prince spat. The wolf-girl bristled, tensing as she prepared to pounce. The boy laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, how about it? Let's pit my dog against your bull, shall we?"

"Your Grace, _please_," Sansa pleaded, desperate to get away from any form of confrontation with her sister. "Let us go, your mother is awaiting us in the garden." At least Arya could respect her sister for not wanting to be around her and wanting to get her royal prick of a future husband away from her.

"My mother can wait. I am the Crown Prince." Sansa shot her a look, pleading with her to just leave. Arya remembered what had happened the last time she had challenged Joffrey to a sword match. Her friend had been killed and she had cost the life of Lady and had lost Nymeria in the bargain…

"Gendry doesn't need to prove anything to you," she said defensively. As much as she hated the prince, she was not willing to risk her only friend's life again, not now that she knew what could happen when one crossed the damned prince and his hound dog.

Joffrey only laughed. He fucking _laughed_.

Arya pounced.

Sansa let out a shriek.

Cold steel sang as it was removed from its sheath.

A force around her waist kept her from colliding with the Prince. Her arms flailed out at him, her fingers scrabbling to get purchase on his ugly flesh. She was pulled back into someone's chest, strong arms holding her down as she wriggled and fought with her captor. The Hound's mass was in front of her, blocking her view of her sister and the prince, his sword shining in the air.

"You keep that bitch under control, you hear me?" The Hound growled, talking to the person restraining her. "That's your fucking job."

"Yes, m'lord." Gendry. He was the one keeping her from ripping Joffrey to shreds. Damn him!

"I ain't no lord, _boy_," he sneered before spinning on his heel and stalking after his prince and his bride-to-be. Arya's anger began to diffuse as her wolf's blood calmed down little by little. Gendry kept a firm hold on her, his hands strong and calloused. Arya flushed despite herself.

"Let me go, Stupid," she said, struggling against him again. Gendry paused a moment, probably checking if the coast was clear before he released her.

Arya quickly bounded away from him, spinning on her heels and glaring at him up and down.

"That was not a smart move, m'lady," he said. She scowled. He knew that she hated it when he called her m'lady. She knew he was doing it only to scold her. Arya hated him for it.

Arya scowled and took off running, leaving Gendry behind her. When she looked over her shoulder to see if he was following, he was standing there looking confused and hurt. That made her even angrier, so she ran faster.

Before she knew it, she had made her way down to the darkened hall with the giant dragon skulls lining the walls. Arya slowed, her breathing heavy. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, irritated by the wetness that had somehow shown up on her cheeks.

She didn't ever want to go back to the Tower of the Hand.


End file.
